


Getting To Know You, Doctor Styles

by harryismymuse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Doctors & Physicians, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, Humiliation, Liam Payne & Harry Styles Friendship, Lirry - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Public Masturbation, Rough Sex, Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryismymuse/pseuds/harryismymuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is a famous Neurosurgeon working at one of the top hospitals in the world. He is King as far as the rest of the hospital is concerned, and with this comes a lot of unwelcome ass-kissing. It seems like everyone is walking on eggshells around Harry--at least until he meets the second-year Neurosurgery intern, Liam Payne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting To Know You, Doctor Styles

Harry’s hands made him who he was. They were steady, gentle, nimble, strong, and saved lives within the parameter of millimeters every day. He was Dr. Harry Styles, head of Neurosurgery at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country, and the healthcare equivalent of Mick Jagger. 

He was also sick and tired of people kissing his butt.

“Your coffee, Dr. Styles,” A lanky blonde surgical intern with terrifyingly large brown eyes met him at the door of the hospital, 7:15am on the dot. She thrust a tall styrofoam cup into his hands before he could even remember her name.

“Oh—thank you…” He watched the steam drift lazily up from the lid and tried not to be alarmed by the way the intern was eyeing the side of his face like he was some long-lost work of art. “Andrews, isn’t it?”

“Yes! I mean, yes, it is.” She squeaked, struggling to keep up with his pace as Harry approached the elevators. “And I was hoping—if you wouldn’t mind—”

“I don’t have you on a surgery with me today, sorry.” He interrupted, saving her the trouble. “Be patient, we’ll be working together soon.”

Harry stepped onto the elevator, leaving the intern behind, staring at him wide-mouthed and with a frown that reminded him very much of a kicked puppy. She’d get over it—they always did—but he still felt a little bad as he took a sip from the coffee she’d given him. 

He ran into three more interns before he even made it to his office. All circling around him like meowing kittens, bright-eyed and white-coated. Dr. Styles! Dr. Styles! Dr. Styles! Not to mention the other surgical heads making a note of engaging him in cheerful conversation, complimenting him on his shirt and asking whether he wanted to go fishing later on in the week. Thank you, and no I don’t care much for fishing.

By the time Harry did reach his office, he was already exhausted with the ass-kissing, even though it was just getting started. 

It always puzzled him; the way people seemed to flock to him like moths to a flame. He’d always thought it was his talent as a doctor—even in med school, his professors had fawned over his work—but he’d also been told he was a bit of a charmer personally. Something about his dimples and the way he tied up his hair? He didn’t really understand it either way. But sometimes all he ever really wanted was for someone to be real with him.

 

***

 

That afternoon, Harry was working with a newly-transferred intern on an AVM (Arteriovenous Malformation), and he’d never met him before so he hoped he wasn’t a bimbo. 

“Dr. Payne?” Harry reached out and shook his hand, noting that the returning grip was firm and assured.  
“Dr. Styles,” The intern—a bright-eyed, serious-faced man with a strong build beneath his scrubs—nodded at him and then wasted no time scrubbing in and taking his spot at Harry’s side by the patient’s head. 

The surgery, as all of Harry’s surgeries tended to do, spanned several hours and consisted of excruciating segments of peering through magnifying glasses and working on a scale barely visible to the naked eye. The whole process was very slow, very delicate, and unforgiving of even the slightest lapse in attention. Over the years, he’d trained his body to stay within the moment, locked in to every slight adjustment of his fingers and every breath of air rattling over his lips. Most interns struggled with this, becoming restless and faint-headed after less than a couple hours. But Payne—he was a statue, the embodiment of stillness and concentration. To say that Harry was impressed was a bit of an understatement. Payne was only a second-year intern after all. 

“Payne,” Harry caught up with him after the surgery was done and he’d freed his damp hair from the surgical cap. “You did an exceptional job back there, I wanted to let you know.”

In Harry’s position as mentor and stern disciplinarian of the aspiring neurosurgeons he had taken under his wing, he didn’t offer compliments often. In fact—as most of the interns he worked with already had a bit of a god complex (an unfortunate but somewhat necessary character trait within the profession)—he rarely offered them at all. So when the words came out of his mouth, he was expecting Payne to at the very least suffer a minor stroke at the honor.

When instead, Payne blinked, smiled, and thanked him in a clear, unaffected voice, Harry felt his expectations rebound just the slightest.

“If possible—I’d like to speak with you further over drinks tonight.” Harry blurted (and he never blurted).

“Um…” Payne—Liam, he thought his first name was—looked taken aback by his offer, enough so that Harry thought he might actually decline. “I’m on call tonight, so I can’t drink.” He clarified, looking absurdly calm as he smiled at Harry.

“Right—right.” Harry shook his head, feeling—what was the word? Flustered. “Non-alcoholic drinks, of course. Meet me at the front entrance of the hospital in twenty minutes and I’ll drive.”

Liam looked over his shoulder, anxiety wrinkling his brows for the first time all evening as he undoubtedly wondered how much trouble he’d get in for ditching the million other things he was expected to take care of as a part of the low-end on the hospital food-chain. 

“Get the other interns to cover you for the moment.” Harry said. “If they give you a problem, they’ll be answering to me.”

And before he could experience anymore word vomit, Harry left the room and went to change back into his street clothes.

 

***

 

The five minutes in the car, waiting in front of the hospital for Liam to show, left Harry more than enough time to wonder what on earth he was doing. So Liam didn’t puke after the second hour of mind-numbing stillness—did that warrant Harry picking him up in his Range Rover and paying for his dinner?

No. No, there was something else.

“Hello,” Liam opened the passenger door and climbed inside the car. He was right on time, but he still startled Harry a little. His street clothes were different than he’d expected; Liam didn’t look like a doctor at all. The loose jeans and casual zippered blue hoodie spoke more of an undecided-major college undergrad than aspiring neurosurgeon. Harry felt almost silly decked out in YSL and his expensive black trench coat in comparison.

“Hello,” Harry replied, hoping his voice sounded pleasant. He was nervous. Why was he nervous? “Did you get your work covered alright?”

Liam smiled, close-mouthed, crinkly-eyed, adorable. “Yeah, I did. Your name holds quite a bit of weight around here.”

Harry pulled out of the parking lot at slightly faster than a crawl, trying to keep from grinning. “Yeah, I suppose it does. You didn’t seem to see me as too big of a deal though.”

There was a bit of silence, and then Liam replied, “I hope you don’t take offense, but I don’t see the point in kissing up. I’d rather focus on doing my work and doing it well. I find that gets more respect. So I try not to get too wrapped up in hospital politics, you know?”

“I think you might just be my favorite intern.” Harry laughed. 

 

***

 

The car ride over to the bar was quick. So quick they honestly could have walked. But the area around the hospital was a bit sketchy, so Harry never dawdled around there if he could help it. 

“I’ll have an ice water with lime, please.” Harry told the bartender, who probably would have looked at him funny if he hadn’t recognized him as the famous Dr. Styles. 

“And I’d like a Coke,” Liam added. 

Harry was trying his best to keep his eyes from sliding over in Liam’s direction, but failing miserably. Liam, where he sat at the bar-top next to Harry, was perfectly halo’d by the drafty yellow light coming from the overheads, and the outline of his jaw was rugged and severe beneath his subtly pursed lips. Harry—master of noticing the details—was falling prey to Liam and his infallible indifference to the world-renowned doctor by his side. 

“So,” Liam turned suddenly to Harry, meeting the brilliant green eyes that had already been watching him. “You said you wanted to speak with me about something?” His face was calm and patient, waiting for Harry to respond.

“Oh, I—” Harry grasped at his water as their drinks were set before them by the bartender. “I mainly meant ‘speak’ as in casual, get-to-know-you sorts of things.” Harry cringed at his words, wondering why he couldn’t come off as even semi-articulate. 

“Well,” Liam seemed pleased by this, his eyes crinkling at the sides with his smile. “Aren’t I a lucky one?”

Harry tried laughing, but it came out as more of a half-whimpered cough. He was trying not to blush at his own thoughts, but even with an extensive knowledge of human anatomy, he still caught himself wondering about what Liam had between his legs.

“Got a wife at home?” Liam asked, casually sipping on his soda, apparently oblivious to Harry’s internal meltdown. 

“No,” Harry managed. 

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

Liam raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised. “I find that hard to believe. The illustrious Dr. Styles? Single?”

Why did those words make something warm and light spread through Harry’s chest?

“It’s true.” Harry replied. “And please—call me Harry.”

 

***

 

So several more minutes passed in a similar fashion; Liam asking mild, semi-personal questions, and Harry falling deeper and deeper into a well of admiration for his new counterpart. Admiration that manifested in a tightening in his chest and a twitching in his pants. It had been a while since Harry had found himself sporting a public erection, but he just kept watching the way Liam’s forearms flexed when he talked, and the clench in his jaw when he was listening really intently…

“Are you alright?” Liam stopped mid-sentence in his story about his first week at med school and peered at Harry curiously. About fifteen minutes earlier, the owner of the bar had dimmed the lights way down, leaving their little corner of bar top practically submersed in shadows.

“I’m lovely.” Harry lied, adjusting the suffocating fabric of his jeans around his erection. “Just listening to your story.”

Liam’s eyes had caught the motion, though, and he was suddenly staring down unabashedly at Harry’s crotch, his calculating expression showing the thoughts whirring behind his eyes at a dangerous speed. 

“Do you… do you have an erection, Dr. Styles?” Liam had been calling him Harry for the majority of the evening, but as Harry’s professional title slipped over his mouth, a wry grin appeared on Liam’s face. 

Harry felt his insides lurch in humiliation. “Course not. Pants are just a little snug is all.”

Liam ignored his excuse, carrying on in a maddeningly casual tone. “It’s perfectly natural—as you know. Young bloke like yourself probably has it happen all the time. A proper nuisance they can be.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He felt like he wanted to disappear. 

“Forgive me if this is too personal, but I find the best thing to do is to take care of it right when it happens.” Liam was leaning in close to Harry now, his bright brown eyes locked on Harry’s green. “Letting it go unattended can lead you to do some things you might regret later.”

Harry’s eyes fell to Liam’s lips, and lower still to where his large, strong surgeon’s hand was resting on his thigh. It was hard for Harry to believe he wasn’t drunk; never had he wanted to kiss someone so badly while sober. 

“Um, I think I’ll head to the toilets,” Harry managed, his voice sounding small and ashamed. He started to climb down from his bar stool, but one of Liam’s hands stopped him, pressing flat against his chest. Harry could feel the warmth of Liam’s palm contacting skin where the buttons of his shirt were left undone. 

“No. Sit back down.”

It had been years since anyone had told Harry Styles “no”. Harry was so startled by it that he practically stumbled back into his seat. 

“What?” He asked, blinking in confusion.

“Can’t have you getting off in a public restroom now, can we?” Liam laughed a little, the sound musical even as it was muffled by the obnoxious sounds of the bar. “Someone might see.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

Liam’s eyes glittered with a challenge, but the rest of his face was cold, unflinching. “Course not. That would be very unprofessional of you, doctor.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. His dick was screaming for release against the fabric of his jeans. He wanted Liam. He wanted him bad.

“So when was the last time… I mean if you don’t mind me asking?” Liam looked at Harry curiously, his cheekbones jutting out as he took a slow sip of his coke from a straw. 

“The last time what?” Harry’s voice was deeper than normal and completely wrecked. 

“The last time you got off,” Liam’s voice was barely audible over all the noise in the room, but the electricity of his hands was enough to take Harry’s breath away as he reached down and gripped his hard-on through his jeans. “So much dick in such tiny pants.” Liam laughed to himself, mercilessly stroking Harry’s length with a whisper of a touch from his finger. 

Harry was practically panting. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d last come. He was always so busy with work, there was just never any time.

“It looks like you really need to come, Doctor.” Liam teased, creases forming at his eyes with his delighted grin. With unmatched dexterity, Liam used one hand to undo Harry’s jeans and slip his leaking dick from his boxer briefs. 

Someone could catch them at any second. The brilliant doctor Harry Styles with his dick out at the bar top, humping into the hand of some unnamed second-year and whimpering like a bitch. 

Oddly enough, this thought caused a strangled groan to escape Harry’s lips, and he let his head fall back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. Liam’s hand was working him so well he could barely see straight, and Harry felt a familiar pressure building in his belly.

“You’re such a slut,” Liam whispered into Harry’s ear. “Filthy Doctor slut. What would your other interns think if you came into my hand right now?”

Harry’s insides twisted, and he growled his release through gritted teeth as rope after rope of his own cum flew up to stain his thousand-dollar printed shirt. He was light-headed, humiliated, and somehow reveling in the best orgasm of his life.

Liam, who was still gently massaging Harry’s hyper-sensitive dick—causing his breath to catch and his hips to twitch involuntarily—was staring at the mess on Harry’s shirt, his own eyes black with lust. He used one finger to swipe up a drop of come and put it to his lips, tasting it eyes-closed. 

Nobody had seen. At least that’s what Harry told himself as he re-zipped his jeans and glanced around nervously at the other people in the bar. He could barely think straight; peering at the world through a white glare of euphoria even as he set some cash down for the bill and the two of them made their way out into the night. 

“This never happened,” He said to Liam as they shut and locked their doors, back safe and sound in Harry’s truck. 

“I think your shirt says otherwise, mate.” Liam smirked. “You’ve made a proper mess on yourself, I’d say.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself down. He didn’t remember taking it down from the bun, but he assumed the band might have slipped off while he was otherwise occupied. 

“We could have been caught,” He croaked, dread settling in on him like a winter blanket. “It would have ruined me.”

“I rather enjoyed the thrill myself,” Liam muttered, his eyes glazing over again as his hands found their way to his own crotch, stroking his dick indirectly through his pants. 

“What are you—” Harry started to protest, but Liam was letting out hot little gasps every time he gripped himself through the fabric, and his head was resting lazily on the headrest, eyes closed in pleasure. Harry was mesmerized. He forgot to even start the car. 

Liam reached under the waistband of his pants then, opting for skin-on-skin contact, moaning shamelessly and writhing gently on the leather passenger seat. Harry wondered what he’d ever done to deserve to watch such a beautiful creature touch himself in the most intimate of ways. 

Hands shaking, and knowing full well it was a terrible idea, Harry turned the car on and turned in the opposite direction of the hospital, heading back to his apartment. 

 

***

 

Liam wouldn’t let Harry touch him. The two of them were still in the car, now parked in the underground garage for Harry’s apartment complex, lit only by a single fluorescent light every fifteen feet or so. 

Liam had pulled his jeans down to his ankles and was sitting bare-assed on Harry’s leather seat, jerking his dick with abandon as Harry sat watching from the driver’s side, breathing heavily and desperately wanting to feel Liam’s length in his own hands. 

“Fuck,” Right as Liam was about to come, he let go of his dick with impressive resolve and sat panting, staring at the angry red erection jutting up from his pelvis. He was so far gone that if Harry had breathed on the tip just right, Liam would have come fantastically, messing all over the interior of the car. 

“Jesus,” Harry’s mouth was dry again, and he was fumbling for his door handle. But Liam reached over and knocked his hand away, looking stern and a little flustered. He grabbed Harry’s chin with damp, sticky fingers, and forced him to look into his eyes. 

“Take your clothes off.” He breathed, all rasp, no games. Harry was weak for him. So weak…

“I can’t. Not right here.” He shook his head, curls falling into his face as he did so.

Liam grabbed for Harry’s crotch and tugged painfully. Harry yelped out and moaned hoarsely. “Pull down your pants, Doctor.

 

***

 

Harry was bare; all long legs and tanned skin, tensing and gasping as Liam deep-throated him over and over again. Liam still wouldn’t let Harry touch him, but Harry was getting harder by the second, heat rolling in his belly with every squeeze of Liam’s throat around his dick.

“God, I’m gonna come,” Harry whispered, his head lolling to one side, riding blissfully up the cliff and waiting for the inevitable tumble down the other side. 

Liam’s lips slid away from Harry then, right before the spasms began. It was enough for Harry to experience a flash a rage and desperation towards Liam—Liam who had taken him to the very edge and held him there, suspended. 

“Put your clothes back on and let’s get out of this car.” Liam whispered, tenderly kissing the jut of Harry’s hip bone and looking up through his lashes. “Quickly now, Doctor.”

 

***

 

In the elevator going up to Harry’s floor, they were alone. And Liam—back against the wall—dragged Harry against him, their erections pressing into each other’s thighs, Liam gripping Harry’s backside and squeezing so hard there were sure to be bruises. Liam’s mouth was unforgiving against Harry’s, and he was so strong that Harry felt the breath being crushed from his lungs. 

And he loved it. He loved every second of it. 

The elevator doors opened again, and the two of them stumbled out of the compartment, Harry’s shoulders slamming brutally against the opposite wall. Liam was everywhere, gripping Harry’s hair, biting at his neck, grinding against his leg. Harry drowned in it all, never feeling more alive. 

They were out in the open; exposed in the luxuriously-decorated hallway where the door to Harry’s apartment was joined by three of his neighbors’. If anyone walked out at that moment, they would see the two men writhing against each other, kissing furiously against the peach-colored walls. Harry knew he was being reckless, but as he felt Liam’s hands force him down to his knees, he honestly couldn’t have cared less.

Liam undid his zipper and his dick fell out to thump Harry in the face, dribbling pre-cum across his nose. Harry opened his mouth and took Liam’s length down his throat faster than he thought possible.

“Shit!” Liam bit down on his own forearm. He was standing so close to Harry that Harry barely had room to move his head between Liam and the wall. “Fuck, fuck,” Liam panted, grinding his hips roughly against Harry’s face. Harry glanced up at Liam through his lashes, watching him fall apart at the feeling of his warm throat around his dick. 

Liam came violently and noisily. 

Harry was a mess with come in his hair and running down his chin. He tossed Liam the keys to his apartment as he stood and wiped the excess from his lips. 

 

***

 

The next hour was spent with Harry sprawled across his bed, trembling with pleasure as Liam undressed him and licked every inch of his body clean. Harry finally got to come when Liam moved down to nibble softly at his bare ass, stroking him off at the same time and whispering filthy things against his flesh. Harry was helpless and completely at Liam’s mercy. The way his lean, muscular body moved over Harry’s. The misleadingly soft doe eyes and pink lips. The way he fucked Harry without mercy or regret. 

In the morning, Harry woke to bruises blooming blue and purple along his flesh. Marks of Liam’s fingers, and the rough grip of his palm. Despite how they looked, Harry smiled at them, remembering how he’d gotten them. Remembering the best sex of his life.

On the bed beside him was a note. Liam had left the night before sometime after three in the morning to return to the hospital, but in neat, scrawling print he’d written, I hope I can get to know you again soon, Dr. Styles.


End file.
